by Gina LaManna
I scooted in, the bare skin of my arms and legs rustling the clean sheets, and Anthony’s warm body making me feel as secure and safe as I’d ever felt.
“This is some prime-time cuddling,” I murmured, already feeling my eyes start to close.
Anthony didn’t respond, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he liked to be associated with the word cuddling. But when I snuggled in even further and leaned my head on his shoulder, his body relaxed and he held me closer than I’d ever thought possible.
I began drifting off, scrunching the covers tight around my chin. But the bed was shorter than usual, and my toes poked out from the side. I pulled my legs up in an effort to warm my toes, but accidentally brushed my feet against Anthony’s legs.
To my alarm, he yelped and shot to the other side of the bed, as quick as if he were a puppy and I’d accidentally stepped on his tail.
“What are you doing?” he asked with wild eyes. “Are you insane? Your feet are freezing!”
My heart finally started to beat at a normal pace again, back down from the adrenaline jolt I’d endured after shocking Anthony with my bare feet. “I was just trying to warm them up.”
“That is cruel and unusual punishment,” Anthony said, hovering on the far side of the bed. Again, he had that adorable, slightly wounded puppy expression going on, and it was everything I could do not to pull him close and run my hands through his hair until his eyes turned chocolate and his lips perked into a smile.
“Don’t touch me with those...those things,” he said, peeking under the covers.
“My, my,” I said, reaching an arm over and playfully squeezing his cheek between my fingers. “Who would’ve thought the tough guy was afraid of a little bit of cold?”
“I’m not afraid of it—” Anthony started, but he interrupted himself with another yelp. “Stop that!”
I giggled, this time brushing his legs purposefully with my toes. But only for a second.
“You’re cruel,” he said, leaping out of bed with the grace of a panther. “Cruel, I tell you.”
But as I met his gaze, a light in his dark brown irises burned bright, and his eyes were soft and kind. It was the look he got when his business mode was turned off and his true personality could shine through. I wasn’t used to it, but I liked it.
“Fine by me,” I said, exaggeratedly stretching so I took up every inch of the bed. “I got my bed all to myself.”
Anthony shook his head. “Looks like I’m going to have to teach you some manners.”
“What do you mean, manners—” I began to ask.
“I mean, it’s time to show you who is boss of the bed,” Anthony said, stepping close. He put one knee on the mattress and one arm on either side of my figure. “You’d do well to remember it.” My heart was beating so hard I was wondering if Anthony could hear the thumps in my chest.
“You’re not my boss,” I murmured at the last moment.
“Aren’t I?” Anthony smiled. “Good thing, then. Because a boss couldn’t do this.”
My mind barely had time to flick through all the scenarios his words inspired. By the time I could think straight, he had one hand on the back of my neck, a knee on either side of my body and my chin cupped in his other hand. But instead of diving straight in for the kiss, he cupped my face in his hands and glanced searchingly into my eyes.
We stared at each other a moment, sizing up the situation. The softness in his eyes melted me, and when he bent forward and pressed his lips to mine, it was everything I’d hoped. The kiss was sweet at first, slow and sensual. My arms slid around his neck, and we stayed that way for a long time, savoring the tenderness of the moment.
And then, in the next second, it was all over. Anthony twisted off and flipped me back on my side of the bed, reclaiming his side.
“Aha,” Anthony said. “Got my space back. Now stay on your side.”
“You little sneak,” I said. “Two can play at that game.” I swooped in and planted a tickly kiss on his neck, feeling him shiver. “Always remember that.”
“It’s all fun and games until you tease me too much,” Anthony said.
“That’s not the saying,” I said, frowning.
“Good thing I’m the Bed Boss, so whatever I say goes,” Anthony winked. “Come here and lay down, let’s get some rest.”
“Is this a trick?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Let’s agree to peacefully cohabitate, shall we?” Anthony watched my internal struggle, trying to decide if he meant it or not.
“I’m not sure...”
“Then let me help you.” The next thing I knew, Anthony had taken the big spoon position and pulled me next to him. When he spoke, his breath was hot and tingly against my neck. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Okay.”
A slow, lazy smile broke across Anthony’s face, rare as a double rainbow. “Well, we can cohabitate this bed peacefully, or we can make war. Your choice.”
I swallowed, the motion as loud as a gulp. “Peaceful, please,” I squeaked. “I’m not ready for battle.”
After a long second, he laughed. I felt his body relax, molding against mine as if we were made for each other. Like whipped cream and hot chocolate. Like graham crackers and marshmallows. Like coffee and milk.
I snuggled up as tight as I could, feeling my eyes start to shut. Despite the hectic day, the ending to it was as peaceful and cozy as I’d ever imagined, and I wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world.
“Good choice,” Anthony murmured in my ear. “War can be dangerous.”
My eyes flashed right back open, my mind suddenly wide awake. I stared hard at the wall, my back still tucked into Anthony. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fall asleep, after all.
Chapter 13
INSTEAD OF SUGAR PLUMS or sheep invading my visions, I found myself mentally counting the abs on Anthony’s stomach. It’d taken me awhile to fall asleep after his comments, which had spurred a fresh train of images burned into my mind.
After I managed to drift off, however, I slept harder than a rock. Waking refreshed and happy, I shifted to admire the view. It was a gorgeous one.
Anthony’s dark, curly hair swirled loosely over his olive-skinned forehead, the subtle aftershave scent comforting in the morning air. The man didn’t even have morning breath. How does he not have morning breath? Breathing quickly against my arm, I ranked my own breath somewhere around dragon status. Yikes.
I was torn between wanting to get my rear end out of bed and brush my teeth, and sticking around to watch Anthony for thirty more seconds. It was a rare thing to witness, Anthony truly at peace. The serious expression normally lining his features had fallen away during the night, his forehead relaxed and smooth.
I scooted towards the edge of the bed, keeping my breath pointed far enough away that I didn’t endanger his nose hairs with my scorching scent. But even that didn’t put him off, as he snuggled in closer, making it even more difficult to leave.
Tearing myself away from the hint of a smile pulling his lips upward in sleep, I forced myself to the bathroom. Meg had already burned her nose hairs, and we didn’t need another victim in the same house. A quick trip to the bathroom and a vigorous brushing session later, I’d turned my toxic disaster into a minty fresh smile. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t swipe on a hint of lip balm and the subtlest tinge of mascara. Deciding after a few minutes that I looked a little bit less like a zombie, I crept back towards the bed.
Halfway there, however, I paused.
Creak. Someone was outside the room.
“Anthony,” I whispered.
Creeeaak. I ducked low to the floor, a distinct clink of metal causing my adrenaline to flow.
“Anthony, wake up,” I hissed. “Someone’s coming into the room.” He stirred, muttering something unintelligible.
“Hey, tough guy, get your gun.” I gave the bed a small shove, hoping that either the word gun or the ripple of the mattress would wake his sleepin
g figure. It worked. Anthony’s eyes shot open and he rolled towards me, all in one motion. I held a finger to my lips and pointed to the door, where someone was slowly turning the knob.
With a sharp nod, Anthony gestured for me to get back in the bathroom. I army-crawled towards the restroom while Anthony pulled a gun from who-knew-where. He crept away from the bed and pressed his back against the wall, pointing the weapon at the door. We’d have to have the whole no guns in bed discussion at a later date.
We both paused, the room deadly silent, though my heartbeat pulsed in my ears like a bass drum. The knob stopped turning and the door began to open.
Anthony cast a warning look in my direction, pointing his gun at the intruder – watching, waiting.
I wondered if the killer hadn’t realized Anthony was sleeping in my room, and was sneaking in to finish me off. But why?
My thoughts halted as the door slammed open with a deafening thunk – one so loud the walls of the cabin shook.
Anthony’s trigger finger tensed.
“Don’t shoot!” I yelled, recognizing Meg’s figure as she stepped inside the doorframe.
At the same time, my best friend shouted, “Surprise!” And, without waiting for a response, she catapulted herself into a dead-on sprint, taking a leap across the bedroom and sailing through the air like an ungraceful cat. She landed on the mattress where Anthony had been seconds before with an alarming crunch, the legs of the bed frame trembling under the shock.
“Meg, what on earth are you doing?” I stood up and rested a hand on my hip. “Anthony almost shot you!”
“You forgot to invite me to the party,” Meg said, sprawling across the bed in her Babe Watch position. True to form, she had on her curve-flaunting bikini, looking ready as ever for the beach.
Anthony lowered the gun and put a free hand to his temples. He shielded his eyes, as if hiding his gaze from Meg’s swimsuit. Her bottoms were just so teensy tiny, the material started to get lost in certain places.
“What party?” I asked, shaking my head.
“I just didn’t want to miss out on anything fun,” Meg said, her voice faltering. “I thought maybe—” She was interrupted by a long, loud creak from the bed.
“Meg, there’s no party here,” I said. “We were sleeping.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but this time the legs of the bed let out a deep groan.
“But I thought I heard – you guys weren’t having a pillow fight or anything?” Meg asked, her eyes confused. “I just felt left out.”
“There was no pillow fight happening,” I said, softening at her slightly depressed tone. “I promise you. Only boring stuff, like sleeping and brushing my teeth.”
“Oh, well in that case, I’m sorry.” Meg’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just didn’t want you to forget about our girls’ weekend.”
“Of course not.” I sat next to her and very carefully patted my friend’s knee, making sure not to touch any indecently exposed body parts. “We’re still going to have our girls’ vacation, don’t you worry. If everything’s okay, Anthony said he might even head out today.”
“Really?” Meg looked far too excited at the prospect. “Because I think everything’s fine. He can take off anytime.”
“I’m right here,” Anthony said. “I can hear everything you say.”
I stood up. “There’s no rush. We can let him check things out so that the rest of our getaway is uninterrupted. In the meantime, maybe we can go check out the local bar today. It’s called Gabe’s, and Carlos asked me to stop by.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” Meg smiled, and I realized she’d been sincerely concerned that the murder and Anthony’s presence had thrown a wrench in our “alone” time.
I’d have to make sure that didn’t happen – I wouldn’t ruin my friendship with Meg for any man, even Anthony. She and I went way too far back. After all, she was the only person who had known and loved my mother like I did.
“Well, I best be going now,” Meg said, moving to climb out of the bed. “You two can finish spoonin’ in peace.”
“We weren’t spooning—” A large crash interrupted my denial.
The right leg of the bed frame gave out first, and I lunged forward trying to help in some way. But I was much too late, and the second leg gave out before I reached Meg. The headboard clattered against the wall a moment later, splitting completely in two.
I watched, helpless, as the rest of the bed crumbled to the ground.
“Gosh darn piece of junk. Tell Carlos not to buy these flimsy toothpick beds from IKEA.” Unscathed, Meg peeled herself from the sunken mattress, dusting off as she stood. “Anyway, like I was saying, I’m gonna go now.”
“Meg, you don’t have to go,” I said, still harboring a bit of guilt that she’d been feeling left out.
“Great!” she turned back and smiled. “How about breakfast, then?”
“Good idea. I’m starving.” I rested a hand on my stomach for emphasis.
“I’m assuming you’re going to cook?” Meg crossed her arms. “Because I’m feeling lazy. And plus I can’t cook.”
“I consider cooking s’mores a delicacy,” I pointed out.
Meg picked at her nails, showing me what she thought of my response.
I sighed. “Okay, give me a minute and I’ll make breakfast. I hope you like toast and cereal. Maybe an egg if you’re lucky.”
“I’ll take all of the above. I’ll just go freshen up while you start getting stuff ready,” Meg said. “And Anthony, put your gun away if you’re thinking about joining us at the breakfast table. You’re just being impolite.”
She left the room, leaving Anthony standing with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Since when does she have a problem with guns?”
I shrugged. “She’s just upset that our weekend is overshadowed by a murder.”
“Scarily enough, I don’t get the feeling it’s the murder that bothers her.” Anthony retrieved a pair of black pants from the floor, pulling them on over his boxers. “I think she has a problem with me.”
“So, are you hungry?” I dodged the obvious response. I knew Meg had a problem with Anthony’s presence. But I didn’t know how to balance my best friend and my boyfriend when I wanted to keep them both happy.
Anthony raised an eyebrow, showing he didn’t appreciate my sidestepping his statement.
“Hey, you should be excited!” I gave a lame attempt at a fist pump. “After all, we haven’t even...s’mored yet, and I’m offering to cook breakfast.” I smiled. “Most men would feel lucky.”
“S’mored, huh?” Anthony raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as his eyes flashed with amusement. “When you say cooking, do you mean putting bread in the toaster?”
“I offer buttered toast or raw toast on the Lacey Luzzi Menu Du Jour. Whatever tickles your fancy.”
Anthony’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “By raw toast, do you mean bread?”
I shrugged. “Tomato, tom-ah-to.”
Chapter 14
MY COOKING STYLE COULDN’T be called graceful. I wasn’t trying to sound angry, but the slamming noises coming from the pots and pans and stovetop made it sound like I had a huge chip on my shoulder when, really, I was just looking for a toaster. Unfortunately, I caused a loud enough racket to draw everyone in the house to the kitchen, including our three unexpected guests.
“Good morning, Principessa,” Marco sang, coming into the kitchen.
I pursed my lips, reminding myself that he’d be gone in a few minutes – just as soon as I got some food in his stomach. In the meantime, I should be polite to him for Nora’s sake. Glancing up, I gave Mini-Mario a smile. He appeared more groomed than a male runway model, and just as slippery-looking. His skin was so oily, I was certain that if I brushed up against him I’d have enough grease to line a skillet. Some people considered their bodies as temples, but I was pretty sure Marco considered his a slip-and-slide.
“Did you have a good evening?�
�� I asked.
“Oh, tesora, did you have a bad night?” Marco walked over towards me, lifting his hands to rub my shoulders. “You seem tense. And all that banging in here, what’s going on?”
I squirmed out of his reach. “Hey Marco, I’m going to be honest with you, and I hope you don’t think I’m being rude. I have a boyfriend, so I’m just not interested in anyone else romantically at this time.”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I will change your mind,” Marco said, surprisingly unfazed by my rejection. So much for worrying about being rude.
“Sorry, I don’t think so. I’m very happy right now.” I opened the cupboards, muttering under my breath, “I’d be even more happy if I could find the coffee pot.”
“I make you an espresso, darling.” Marco stepped forward and this time attempted to slide his well-oiled arm around my back. I managed to leap out of the way just before I got grease stains on Meg’s shirt.
“I don’t have any espresso...” I peered down at Marco, who was at least four inches shorter than me.
“You have luck, then.” He nodded vigorously. “I never travel without it. Premium grade espresso.”
I debated telling him I didn’t particularly care for the bitter taste of espresso, but I didn’t. I figured it would keep his arms busy and away from my shoulders. I also pretended to stifle an exaggerated yawn. “That would be fantastic.”
I moved out of the way while Marco began shuffling around the kitchen. Soon enough, more footsteps thundered on the floorboards and Meg entered the kitchen, followed closely by Anthony.
“How’s the toast coming?” Meg asked.
I held up the bag of bread. “It’s still raw.”
“I see the problem,” Meg said. “You haven’t had your sugar bomb coffee yet. That’s probably why you didn’t notice your shirt tucked into your undies. Pull down that fabulous shirt so it’s over your rear end – at least until after breakfast.”
I flushed right past pink and hit tomato-red in a second. I yanked the shirt down.